The Alyce in the Watch
by BreezyBoo
Summary: Wonderland is Hell. This story came from my newly found Alice craze, you call it an obsession, I call it love. Anyway this idea of a hellish wonderland came from the most awesome game ever called Alice Madness Returns. It's twisted, but still has humor.
1. Chapter 1

The Alyce in the Watch

Charles hated the house.

It was a large, old Tudor with a dusty brown roof, ancient turrets and chipped bricks beneath the tarnished wood paneling. The house itself was of the haunted variety, and it was hard not to think of it as anything short of foreboding, what with the rusted black iron gates and the twisted forest of dead trees, whose branches resembled the flailing limbs of those long dead and forgotten as they were being dragged down the cliffs of Dover, and straight into hell's fiery bosom.

It was horrible.

It was intolerable.

It was the most gruesome, oozing sore upon the face of the earth that Charles had ever laid his eyes on.

The house was Hell itself.

It was now his current place of residence.

The trip from Miami, Florida, United States of America to Dover, England was excruciatingly long and Charles was understandably tired, cranky, and feeling quite descriptive. Upon further analysis of the picky 12-year-old's wandering eye, he found pink roses that adorned the garden in a pitiful attempt to make the house seem more inviting. _As if a few stupid flowers could make this dump seem more lively,_ Charles thought, completely set on the belief that the house was a portal to the underworld.

"Do you like the roses?" A thick British accent inquired, "We planted them just for your arrival."

Now Charles _loathed _the house.

"No." He answered plainly.

This kind of reply was intended to crush any hope of further conversation, and was usually successful in doing so, but these Brits are resilient.

"You know, this house was built by your ancestors almost 120 years ago." The servant, Charles couldn't remember his name, walked him up to the front door while carrying his luggage from the black BMW Charles had been caged in since the airport in London.

"And those years have not been kind," Charles remarked as he scanned the door for any part of wood or metal that wasn't dented or scratched. The doorknob looked like someone had bludgeoned it to death with a baseball bat, and although it had been shined to the point where Charles could see his two big brown eyes and every last hair on his fluffy, blonde head, it showed years of abuse and grime. Charles became nauseous at the realization that he may actually have to _touch_ this thing.

Luckily he didn't have to because the servant, showing a great deal of agility and dexterity, managed to balance all of Charles' bags, twist the knob and pop the door open. After regaining his balance, the servant hobbled inside the house and Charles followed suit. The two were greeted by a large foyer constructed of white marble and a fuzzy, ornate, royal blue rug that lead them to the twin staircases in the main room up ahead. No paintings or tables adorned the entrance although Charles couldn't fathom why, considering there was some sort of dried ancient, reddish-brown liquid splattered about the marble. _Why wouldn't they cover it up?_ He wondered. Even in the orphanage, where rats and roaches roamed freely, there had never been this disgusting liquid in view for all to see.

Charles distastefully wrinkled his nose, "What is that?"

"Hmm?" Inquired the servant, and Charles pointed to the blotches; he was very irritated that the servant hadn't already noticed the obvious blemish.

"Oh!" The servant's posture straightened up as if he were excited to have this topic brought to his attention, "You mean the blood."

"Blood?" Charles asked dryly, clearly not believing him.

"But of course!" His enthusiasm was as bright as the sun, and Charles, who had a particular dislike for sunshine, found his annoyance growing. The servant then dropped the bags and sat down onto the floor, Charles, out of sheer pride and stubbornness, remained standing.

"There was a great battle here, back in the early 1900's that is, and loads were murdered right where you're standing!" Charles seriously doubted that fact but made no effort to correct the young man, "You see, they were enemies from France who came looking for treasure. And they were sure keen to get their snobby frenchy hands on it too! Those revolting, slimy, arrogant-'' The servant then went on to call the French every nasty British name he could think of, most of it Charles didn't understand, nor retain for future reference and possible use , as he usually would have done. Most of what he picked out consisted of swear words, wanker, bloody, git and so forth.

"What were they looking for?"

"Tha' just it," The servant replied laying on more accent than normal, "No one knows what they were after in the first place. But it must have been something of great value for them to burst into enemy territory and kill for it. Now, listen here my wee American friend, I've been livin' here my entire life and I know better than anyone that sometimes if you get too close to the treasure, the ghosts will come out and scare the devil out of you. Most people say that they can still here the cries of the fallen, still trying to protect their possessions. Who knows, maybe you'll be the one to find it."

Charles snorted, "If you honestly think I believe that silly, old wives' tale, you are defiantly off your rocker, _servant_." He said the word with malice, staring anxiously into the servant's face, searching for any sign of hurt, however like all of his previous endeavors to upset the British man, it was not giving the usual satisfaction of hurting someone, mainly because Charles couldn't see his face underneath his shaggy black hair and khaki riding cap that matched his vest and trousers.

"Jack."

"Excuse me?" Charles wasn't entirely sure he heard the young man speak.

"My name, it's Jack." He said louder, "I'm not your servant, I'm your cousin. I suppose I shouldn't be upset about this- you couldn't possibly know we are related." Jack removed his riding cap to reveal his two chocolate brown eyes that matched Charles', a small button nose, well defined cheek bones, and a slight amount of stubble on his chin.

Small, pale fists clenched at his side, "Of course I wouldn't know! In case you haven't noticed, my father, who has blatantly ignored me all these years since Mom died and stuck me in that miserable boy's home in Miami, has only just dragged me back to London in some big, freakin' scary house with a total stranger and isn't even here to greet me! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE! Make up your minds about whether you want me around or not because I have had it!" And with that, Charles stormed out of the house in a great huff and sprinted off into the woods. Jack's calls in alarm soon were drowned out by the waves crashing against the rocky shore. Charles slowed his pace to a walk and made an attempt to regain his breath. Out of nowhere, he swung a punch at a nearby tree, missed and felt the terrifying sensation of the rock giving way under his weight. With a scream that no one but the sea and twisted trees could hear, Charles plummeted down towards the beach.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Charles? Charles? CHARLES LINDDEL WHERE IN BLUE BLAZES ARE YOU?" Jack had been at this for hours now, and his high energy levels were reaching their limit. The back of his riders' uniform was drenched in sweat and his dark hair dripped with the expected light rain that had slithered its way in between the netting of the thick canopy. All sunlight and then moonlight was blocked, making for difficult travel in itself, and the thick forest of dead trees wasn't making it any easier. Twisted branches and roots wound themselves around his ankles and wrists again and again. If Jack hadn't known any better he'd swear they were trying to warn him of something.

What the underbrush was insisting upon however was unknown and could only be reached by pushing on ahead.

Perhaps it was unwise to do so, for not five feet ahead of the young man there was a chunk of rock split from the others. A sickening realization was dawning on him, here he was not 24 hours with the boy and he was already dead. Guilt swept through his conscience like a hurricane as he was sprinting down towards the beach with a heavy heart and a body bag.

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><p>Something was stroking his hair.<p>

The feeling in Charles' limbs had only just begun returning after the fall. Soon he was able to wiggle his toes and he attempted to move his wrists but was met with a sensational pain that appeared to have no limits. The stroking of his hair paused momentarily, Charles felt slight pressure on his wrist, and then the pain was gone, a dwindling memory. His blonde locks were once again being attended too. Only now there was more feeling to it, Charles could now make out fingers. Someone was petting his head.

In a moment of terror and disgust, Charles thought it was Jack, but that horror was put to rest when he inhaled a fresh, feminine scent that could never belong to a man. He sighed contently and relaxed, occasionally testing his limbs to see how far his limits were.

How many times he dozed off was unknown to him. The first time he only caught a hint of that smell again, the second a golden light, and when he woke fully, he was lying alone on the beach, completely unharmed by the tremendous fall.

Puzzled, he tried calling to his rescuer, only to find his voice rough and sore, "Hello?"

No response.

Charles stood on wobbly legs and attempted his call again, "Hello?" His voice bounced around the cliffs but no change was apparent.

Deciding on a course of action, Charles began scavenging the shore for any sign of human life that was not his own. Jack's tale of ghosts was a thought in the back of his mind, and was now on the verge of being a possible explanation. This conclusion was heightened by the small graveyard that stayed eerily secluded within a hidden cove on the beach. Charles trudged over to the little creepy sight in his sandy and slightly bloodstained clothes.

There were only six graves. Most of them worn down by the high tide to the point where the names could no longer be recognized, and some were covered in algae and seaweed. Most were sunken in the sand and tilted sideways one was completely tipped over and there was a more gruesome sight ahead of him. The coffin that had apparently come from the tipped over grave was almost fully unearthed and part of it was cracked open revealing a decomposed, skeletal arm that still had bits of clothing and rotted flesh that refused to let go of the wilted bones that had turned gray over the years. Within its shriveled, clenched hand was a freshly polished watch, which was the only thing that had been untouched by the sea and its destruction.

Cautiously, Charles approached. The watch was beautiful, gold with a thick chain, a circle in the center of the cover that allowed you to peer in at the intermechenisms of the watch. It showcased many cogs, gears and gismos which all seemed to be made of gold as well. Intricate designs were carved on the outside of it, and as he took a closer look, Charles realized they were depictions of cogs and gears as well. Unknowingly, Charles reached out and took the watch from the dead man's hand. The inside was transparent, with the roman numerals and gold hands that showed the watch still ticking away the hours for lord knows how long.

A cleanly pressed note was expertly placed inside the top cover of the watch. It was crisp and clean as though the dead man knew the watch would be unharmed by the waves. Charles unfolded it to find a scribbled scrawl that could only mean the man had written this in a hurry.

_To whom it may concern, _

_If you're reading this it means that I'm dead and the Author is still very much alive. I can't explain much now, especially not to some lousy grave-robber, but all I can tell you is that this watch holds a lot of secrets and those who have the pleasure of being in its company should consider themselves lucky. This is my most prized possession and I won't have it being mistreated, so take good care of her. _

Charles stared at the note, read it again. Stared some more, and attempted to speak, to ask someone, though he did not know who, what this all ment, however the words died on his tongue as a piercing cry echoed off the cliffs.

_(A.N: Ending sucks I know but hey I'm lazy. I may add more to this chapter anyway so…. Yeah…)_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next thing he knew, Charles was being embraced wholeheartedly by a very spooked British man.

"How on earth did you manage to survive that fall?" Jack pulled back and shook the young boy's shoulders with a wild look in his chocolate eyes.

Charles tried to explain about the hair stroking and the graveyard and the watch but he was cut off by his oh-so-vocal cousin.

"It doesn't matter," Jack declared hugging him again, "What's important is that you're safe and now we ought to get you cleaned up- why, you look like something the cat barfed up on the rug. That's and awful comparison, I'm sorry. What with you dying and all today you'd probably expect to hear some sort of apology." By now the two had begun to make their way back to the house and Charles had half a mind to shove the watch into Jack's mouth if he went on any further, but the Brit pressed onward with the conversation, regardless of the lethal looks the 12-year-old was throwing his way. "You know what, it must've been an angel. Yep that's it I'm sure. Whether you choose to believe it or not Charles you've got someone on the other side looking out for you." This pondering continued, "I wonder who though, maybe could be your mum, I mean she still loves you and probably wants to protect you."

Charles remained silent; the thought of his mother upheaved several unwanted memories. He wondered, vaguely, if it was possible to ever forget. Regarding the pain and suffering witnessed before her fatal decision, it was still unfathomable, though Charles had learned most things were in the world. Mum could rot in hell for all he cared, for leaving him, for abandoning him in this place, all alone stuck with a chatty tramp who could scarcely keep his wits about him.

Perhaps they're all mad, maybe he was too, maybe it was better like that. Charles doubted he would like the world if it made sense, it would make for a boring game. He stared at the watch that lay in his fist, oh yes, Charles was sure this would make things more interesting.

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><p>AN: Haha that's all you get for now, I'm very mean, and very lazy. I also like ranting, there will be a lot of that soon. bwahahahahaha, any questions can be left in the reviews and will be answered in nonsense. Bubblegum, eggshell, eggplant, are all very nice colors. Nighty Night.


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